Friday, August 16, 2013

Today is your birthday. You woke up this morning no longer a 4 year old, but 5. Yesterday you told me that after you turned 5 you wanted me to skip the rest of your birthdays; that you wanted to stay 5 forever. I couldn't argue with that because quite simply, that sounds wonderful. Later I thought about what an unusual request that was and how incredibly opposite it is from your older brother who is dying to grow up just as fast as the days will permit him. Not you however. You, Truman, are a rare breed. I think perhaps that request says a lot about who you are-you are someone who lives fully in each moment. Picture after picture of you shows a child completely engaged in enjoying whatever it is happening, whether that be drinking a hot chocolate or riding on the carousel or playing in the waves. You are completely satisfied with the present because of this disposition to "be here now". This sort of trait makes you a very fun and relaxing person to be around. I'm not the only one who has picked up on this either. I watch all the kids in our apartment complex, from the littles to the older boys, want to hang out with you. When the big boys line up for belly flops at the pool, they cheer for you to join them, and then one will inevitably wait in the water for you to go in case you should need help swimming back to the side of the pool. Which, since a few weeks into summer, is no longer an issue. You are diving, and even doing front flips into the pool.

There have been many things you've mastered this past year, like learning to wait till 7am to come in and get me or your Dad to retrieve you a bowl of granola. We both greatly appreciate that. You've also begun to ride a bike without training wheels, however, you still prefer your scooter of which you whip around the complex like a mad man. I think you'll be more interested in your bike after you grow another couple inches since the bike is a little too big for you and thus makes it tricky when you start or go to get off. Very reluctantly, you've also learned to write your name. It was a very eye opening experience the day I sat down with you to encourage you to do it without a tracer. To put it frankly, you are a perfectionist. Each stroke maddened you because you claimed it to be too sloped, or too big, or too small. You cried, you got angry. My cheerleading skills were tested, but in the end, you did it; you wrote your name, and although it didn't meet your standards, it really was a very impressive first attempt.

Your likes have changed a little this past year, but only slightly. Thomas the Train use to be the very essence of your every waking breath, and while you will still want to stop in a store and play for awhile on a train table demo, or insist to watch it if it's on the television, you no longer seem to be consumed by the 'all things Thomas' obsession seen in the first four years of your life. Lamborghini's, GT 500's, Porshe 911, Aston Martins, Bentley's, Audi A8, McLaren's, Corvettes, Bugatti Veyron, and Ferrari's...these are your new favorite past time, and thanks to the fact we live in the land of the rich and famous, we get to see these cars on a daily basis. I even took you to the Porshe dealership in Calabasas one day as a fun outing. Your dad thought they would take one look at us, realize we didn't have enough money to even lease such a car for a day, and kick us out. But of course that was hardly the case. Instead the sales associates were smitten by your enthusiasm and knowledge of the super cars inside the showroom, even letting you crawl in one to get the feel. You are definitely a people charmer. At home you line up all your Matchbox cars, of which you know what is what, and race them for hours. I could offer you the world, but you would trade it in a second for an .99 cent die-cast 1969 Corvette from Target.

You also LOVE the Iron Giant. A couple months ago an older boy told you that he could see invisible robots and then that they were living in our home and wanted to kill and destroy us. He was trying to mess with you, and it worked. You believed him. And despite Mommy and Daddy explaining to you imagination from reality, praying with you about it, you were convinced this boy was right: there were invisible robots everywhere, especially in your room. For the first time in your life you had nightmares. Around 2am each night I'd wake up to see your dark outline standing by me in bed, requesting to come in for safety and snuggles. Then one day while I was in prayer over it the Holy Spirit gave me a great idea, the Iron Giant. We watched it that evening and that gripping fear of robots transformed into a new love.

Despite all the growing up business you've done this year, you've remained my little lover. With Conrad in Kindergarten this past year you and I had new found one on one time together of which your favorite way to kill those couple of hours of just us was laying in my bed, just us. I would read books, we would wrestle, I would kiss the mess out of you, I would read books, we would wrestle, I would kiss the mess out of you, repeat. You hold a very special place in your Momma's heart and you know this. Your Beach Grampa use to tell me when I was a little girl that if he could he would rope down the moon and give it to me. I use to think he was just being sweet, but I now understand exactly what he was saying, because if I could Truman, I would rope down the moon and give it to you. My heart is a bottomless hole of which there is no end of the love I have for you and your brother.

You make me very proud and very, very happy.

I know next August you'll want to turn 6, and perhaps stay 6 forever. I want you to know that it's OK to get older-you'll always be my baby and I will always have to time to stop the world the melt with you. God is growing you up to be a man after His own heart, even at 5.